


It Will Burn Your Love to the Ground

by orphan_account



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 10:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5825758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s just tucking the covers around Clarke, when the silence is shattered. “How could you do it? How could you do that to me?”</p><p>The tone is so different from earlier, ragged and weak that Lexa jolts. Even though she’s well acquainted with Clarke’s drunken mood swings, she isn’t prepared for the desperately sad, broken expression on Clarke’s face with she looks up.</p><p>She has to forcibly remind herself that she's angry. That she's broken, too and it's because of Clarke. “We're not talking about this right now. Not when you're drunk. Not when it's near four in the morning. Not when you’ve ignored me for more than a month.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Will Burn Your Love to the Ground

**Author's Note:**

> Song is All my friends by Snakehips

_ All my friends are wasted _

_ And I hate this club _

_ Man I drink too much _

_ Another Friday night I wasted _

_ My eyes are black and red _

_ I'm crawling back to you babe _

 

Lexa groans and buries her head under her pillow to try to escape the rude pounding on her door that has disturbed her sleep. Her efforts are in vain because the banging continues, now accompanied by muffled shouts.

Lexa knocks the pillow to the side, rolling to the edge of her bed to sit up. She pauses there for a moment, shoulders hunched, eyes pressed tightly shut to gather herself. She knows what’s waiting on the other side of the door for her.

Finally, Lexa stands and staggers into the hall, snatching up her glasses on the way. All the while the pounding on the door has continued. As she gets closer to the door, she can make out slurred fragments of sentences and cursing. A glance to the clock on her microwave tells her that it is just past three in the morning.

Coming to a stop in front of the door, Lexa takes the time to press her forehead to the wood and consider whether or not she really wants to do this. The person on the other side of the door has tired themselves out, tapering down to feeble knocks and muttered curses. This late night wake up call had been a routine for more than a year, but it hadn’t happened for six or so weeks, so Lexa had been pretty sure that it would never happen again.

Still, eyes closed, forehead resting against cool wood, Lexa can’t find it in her to leave the person out there, no matter how hurt or angry or upset she feels. One more deep breath for preparation and then Lexa unlocks and twists the knob. The door immediately starts to fall open because apparently the drunk woman waiting outside for her had decided that her door was as convenient a place as any for a nap.

Lexa finds herself suddenly holding a boneless lump made up of leather, wild, tangled hair, and the smell of cheap vodka and sex. She grits her teeth against her annoyance and drags the woman backwards to the couch. Once the woman is safely propped up there, Lexa moves back to the door to lock it and then to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

Meanwhile, the woman has somehow tipped over from where she was sitting, to faceplant on the couch. Lexa not so carefully jerks her back upright and taps her cheeks to wake her up. Slowly, lazily the woman’s eyes flicker open. She blinks through the haze of her bloodshot eyes a few times before managing to focus.

“Lexa.” She mumbles, trying to flap her arm weakly.

“Clarke.” Lexa responds, carefully measured.

Clarke manages to lift her arm high enough to poke at Lexa. “You… You jerk. I thought you weren’t gonna open the door.”

“I considered it.”

“That’s not nice. You always open the door.”

“Things change.” She forces the water into Clarke’s hand, “You need to drink this or you’ll have the worst hangover tomorrow.”

“No, you aren’t being nice.” Clarke huffily sticks her nose into the air.

There’s a moment where Lexa wonders why she ever found that cute. She moves past it. “Drink the water, please, Clarke, so that I can go back to sleep.”

The other woman eyes her suspiciously, but nods. “Okay, but I’m going to tell you about this girl I hooked up with first.”

A twisted spike of bitter anger and heartbreak stabs through Lexa. Her jaw is clench so tightly she fears her teeth might break. She’s crippled so badly by the blow that she doesn’t have a chance to protest before Clarke launches into the tale.

“Met her at this bar. She was sexy as hell. Tall, long black hair, obviously worked out. I caught her eyeing me from across the room and all it took was a few words whispered in her ear to get her to follow me outside. I fucked her in the alley behind the bar and then she got on her knees and I rode her face right there.”

The tone jars Lexa out of her stupor, because, yeah, Clarke has always liked to tell her about the people she has one-night stands with, but she’s never used such a callous, smug tone before. It strikes Lexa as her head jerks up, this is meant to hurt her. She sees confirmation of that in the cruel twist of Clarke’s lips and the hard glint of her eyes.

“That’s enough.” She forces out when Clarke opens her mouth again. “Drink the damn water.”

A victorious smile turns up the corners of Clarke’s lips as she lifts the glass to her mouth. The uncoordinated, drunken motion sloshes some water out of the cup, but neither of them pay attention to it.

Clarke takes a few sips and tries to lower the glass. Lexa gives her a sharp looks and hardens her voice, “The whole thing, Clarke. You know how this works.”

Clarke gives her a dramatic eye roll, but complies anyway. Apparently she’s had her fill of cruelty for the night. Lexa snatches the glass from Clarke when it’s empty and sets it on the coffee table. Then she’s grabbing Clarke’s arms and dragging her to her feet. “You’re going to bed.”

The drunk woman staggers as Lexa guides her, but manages not to hit anything. Lexa sits her on the edge of the bed before turning to rummage through her drawers. She comes back with a t-shirt and shorts, the ones Clarke usually wears when she’s here.

Clarke has fallen back on the mattress, so Lexa drags her upright again before swiftly peeling off her blue leather jacket and shirt. Clarke takes it upon herself to lose her bra. Lexa tugs the shirt carefully over Clarke’s head and starts to work on her pants. This is a routine they’ve been through a hundred times before. When the dressing is done, Lexa lifts Clarke to her feet and hauls her into the bathroom, setting her on the toilet. Then it’s to the sink where Clarke’s toothbrush awaits her. When they get back to the bed without incident or another word from Clarke, Lexa sighs with relief. 

She’s just tucking the covers around Clarke, when the silence is shattered. “How could you do it? How could you do that to me?”

The tone is so different from earlier, ragged and weak that Lexa jolts. Even though she’s well acquainted with Clarke’s drunken mood swings, she isn’t prepared for the desperately sad, broken expression on Clarke’s face with she looks up.

The tears gathering in Clarke’s eyes spark the stinging of tears in Lexa's own eyes and a tightness in her throat that she has to swallow down. 

She has to forcibly remind herself that she's angry. That she's broken, too and it's because of Clarke. “We're not talking about this right now. Not when you're drunk. Not when it's near four in the morning. Not when you’ve ignored me for more than a month.”

Clarke doesn't move or protest as Lexa stands and walks to the door and Lexa is grateful for that small mercy. 

Back in the living room on her couch, the emotions finally have time to settle. Still, she’s too exhausted to try to process what just happened or untangle the mess knot of emotions that have been dragged to the surface. Instead, she curls up on the couch, dragging a blanket around her shoulders. Her eyes close and she wishes for sleep that she knows won’t come.   


* * *

 

The sun glaring through the open blinds in her living room wakes her up from a short, restless sleep. Another restless night to add to the string of them she’s had in the past month. At this point, she’s not sure if the dark circles under her eyes will ever fade. 

She drags herself upright and scrubs at her sleepy, haggard eyes. Then she shoves her glasses onto her nose and peers around the room. Her watch informs her that it’s about seven thirty in the morning and she knows Clarke won’t be up for another couple of hours at least. The woman sleeps like a hibernating bear when drunk.

Lexa’s kind of grateful for that because it gives her time to clean up the take-away containers and other evidences of loneliness and misery scattered about her apartment. Things that she hopes Clarke had been too drunk to notice the night before.

When that chore is complete, she contemplates how she will kill time next. Eventually she settles on going for a run. The downside is that she has to go into her room to get clothes. The upside is that she can always slip into this sort of mindless zone when she runs that she finds helps regulate her emotions. She knows she’ll need plenty of that for when Clarke wakes. So despite her reluctance she sneaks quietly into her room to grab her workout gear. 

When she returns to her apartment nearly an hour later, feeling no better than when she left, she immediately heads to take a shower. She hesitates outside her own bedroom door, suddenly remembering Clarke and not wanting to wake her. She wonders if Clarke will stay if she’s woken up or if she’ll sneak out to begin her avoidance of Lexa anew. Lexa shakes her head hard to stop that train of thought. This is her own damn apartment and if she wants to take a shower she will, Clarke be damned. If Clarke is seriously about wanting to talk, she’ll be here when Lexa gets out.

With that thought in mind, Lexa pushes the door open boldly and strides into her bathroom, back straight and head high. Clarke doesn’t move an inch on the bed, but once the bathroom door is shut Lexa blows out a harsh breath and presses a hand over her pounding heart. She clenches her jaw tightly, angry at herself for being so affected, and keeps moving to turn on the shower.

When she’s survived the harrowing journey out of the shower and into her room to get dressed, she moves quickly out to the living room where she feels a measure of peace. Lexa searches for something to distract herself from her bed crasher and latches on to her grumbling stomach. Mechanically, she moves to the kitchens and pulls out the ingredients for an omelet. It’s only half-way through beating the eggs that she realizes she got out the ingredients to make Clarke’s favorite omelet. Hastily she shoves them back into the fridge and whips out her own favorites, slamming them down on the counter.

“Careful, I don’t think those bell peppers have done anything to you.” 

Clarke’s scratchy morning voice makes Lexa jolt about a foot into the air, like a startled cat. She whips around, briefly meets Clarke’s amused eyes and cold smirk, and then whips back around. With as much control as she can muster, she carefully picks up the knife and begins chopping up the bell peppers. Her throat is too dry to form words right this moment.

Clarke gives a huff of annoyance behind her. “So you’re just going to ignore me?”

Lexa opens her mouth to speak, but she can’t form words. She clenches her jaw tightly instead and grips the knife more tightly in her hand. Her hands are trembling.

There’s a loud scraping sound as Clarke drags out one of Lexa’s bar stools. Clarke knows how much Lexa hates it when people drag the stools over her hardwood floor. 

“Very mature, Lexa. It’s good to see you’ve regressed since I saw you last.” 

Lexa’s eyes shut tightly and she draws in a shuddering breath, before hunching back over the cutting board. She has been imagining this scenario, seeing Clarke again, for more than a month now, but she’s entirely unprepared for the reality of it.

Just when she prepares to start cutting again, Clarke speaks up. “This right here is exactly why you lost Costia.”

Lexa’s entire body jerks at that name and the knife bites into her thumb. A millisecond later, she slams the knife down and whirls on Clarke. She entirely ignores the throbbing pain in her thumb and doesn’t notice at all when blood starts dripping from it.

“Shut your fucking mouth, Clarke.” Her anger seems to surprise Clarke. “You’re the one who stopped talking to me. You’re the one who ignored me for more than a month before showing up at my door drunk at three a.m.”

“You’re the one who made me have to do that.” She bites back indignantly.

“No!” Lexa nearly roars. “You promised nothing would change and then you cut me out of your life with no warning. You convinced Raven and Octavia and Wells to abandon me too! I wouldn’t be surprised if you even tried to convince Anya. And what was my crime, Clarke? What was my crime?” Her voice is low and dangerous now.

The tables have completely turned. Clarke is slumped on the stool, desperately avoiding Lexa’s eyes.

The anger drains out of Lexa when she finally says it. “My only crime was falling in love with you.”

Silence falls over them as they remember the last time those words had been uttered. It was in this very apartment, in this very kitchen, on the very stool at which Clarke now sits. It had been a morning much like this one. Clarke had shown up drunk; Lexa had taken care of her. Then in the morning Lexa had confessed her love over Clarke’s favorite breakfast, blueberry waffles, and had her heart broken by her best friend.

The moment of silence allows Clarke to gather up a new storm of indigence. “That was selfish! It was selfish. You never should have told me!”

“I’m not the selfish one. You are!” Lexa points wildly at Clarke.

Her eyes widen and Lexa prepares for another onslaught. Instead Clarke’s voice is gentle and hesitant. “Lexa, you’re bleeding.  A lot. You need to clean that and put a bandage on it.”

She looks at her hand, utterly confused as she becomes aware of the throbbing in her thumb again. Blood is dripping of her hand onto the floor, some of it has dripped onto her shirt. Before she can do much more than stare at her hand in bewilderment, her other hand is gripped by someone’s soft, warm palm and gentle fingers. 

Lexa complies mindlessly when Clarke drags her towards the bathroom. The first aid supplies Clarke pulls out were all placed in this apartment by her. She had been appalled to find out her friend had no band-aids or Neosporin.   

Lexa allows it when Clarke forces her hand into the sink and rinses off the blood. She allows it when Clarke spreads neosporin over the deep cut and places a bandage over it.

“You’re lucky you don’t need stitches.” Clarke mumbles.

Lexa just sighs and shrugs in return, still allowing Clarke to hold her hand.

When Clarke finally looks up at her, she’s wearing that same tortured, broken expression that she had last night. Her voice is strained and soft and aching. “Why did you do it? You ruined everything. Why did you tell me?”

She can’t stop the tears that sting at her eyes now. Her voice matches Clarke’s. “I had to know. I’ve been in love with you for so long, years, and I just couldn’t keep wondering and hoping. I had to know.” Clarke doesn’t move, still holding her hand and hardly seeming to breathe. “And I thought we were in a place where it wouldn’t change anything. I thought our friendship was strong enough that it wouldn’t matter if you didn’t feel the same.”

Lexa pulls her hand from Clarke and turns away from her as the tears begin dripping down her face. “I was wrong.”

She pushes past Clarke, back out into the living room, with the woman trailing along behind her, still silent.

Lexa brushes the tears from her cheeks as quickly and discreetly as she can, taking a deep breath to steel herself for what she needs to do now. She spins abruptly to face Clarke. “This can’t happen again. You can’t show up here drunk in the middle of the night and expect me to take care of you.”

“You’ve never had a problem with me being drunk before.” Clarke tries.

Lexa hardens herself. “It isn’t that and you know it, Clarke. You knew how I felt about you, but you came here last night to tell me about the girl you hooked up with and hurt me deliberately.”

There was a long pause before Lexa admitted, “I still want to be your friend.”

Clarke’’s eyes dropped. “I don’t know if I can.” She whispered.

Lexa swallows thickly to press the next sentence out. “Then you need to go and don’t come back until you’ve figured it out.” 

She follows that up by walking to her door and pulling it open. It’s a clear gesture. Clarke hesitates only for a second, looking like she wants to say something else, before she gives a small nod and walks out the door.

 

_ We open with the vultures, kissing the cannibals _

_ Sure, I get lonely, when I'm the only _

_ Only human in the heaving heat of the animals _

_ Bit of brown salt, stinging on my tongue _

_ I will not waver, heart will not wait it's turn _

_ It will beat, it will burn burn, burn your love into the ground _

_ With the lips of another _

_ 'Til you get lonely, sure I get lonely _

_ Sometimes _

 

It’s another week and a half before Clarke musters the courage to return to Lexa’s door. A week and a half of no contact, no texts, no calls. 

It’s been nearly two months that she’s been struggling under the enormity of what Lexa shared with her. When Lexa first said the words, Clarke felt crushed, suffocated, like the weight of the entire world had fallen on her shoulders. And maybe it had because the immensity of Lexa’s love certainly felt big enough to encompass the entire world.

Clarke had seen the way Lexa loved before. She had seen the way Lexa loved Costia with her entire being, with an intensity that put others to shame. She was terrified when she saw all that intensity and passion and love directed her way in Lexa’s expressive eyes.

How could she ever live up to the enormity of that? How could she ever find it in her to match that?

Clarke is ashamed to admit that it took two visits from Anya and a fully fledged intervention from Raven, Octavia, and Wells to knock some sense into her. And even then she still had to go out and get drunk and briefly make out with some random guy before she found enough courage to come here again.

Clarke looks at the time on her phone again. 12:48 A.M. She brings her hand up to knock, but hesitates. Should she disturb Lexa’s sleep again?

She takes a step back from the door. Then she catches herself. She needs to do this now before she loses her nerve. Before she can rethink it again she raises her fist to the door and knocks loudly.

Five minutes pass by with her shifting nervously and nothing coming from the other side of the door. She knocks again, anxiously clenching her hand around her phone. Nothing.

12:57 A.M. She knock once more. This time accompanying it by timidly calling out, “Lexa?”

12:59 A.M. Clarke contemplates just sleeping out here in the hall and talking to Lexa in the morning. She knocks again and sends Lexa a text.

1:02 A.M. Just when she’s prepared to knock again, she hears shuffling inside the apartment. 

“Lexa?” She questions.

The door doesn’t open, but Lexa’s muffled voice replies. “I told you I’m not doing this anymore, Clarke.” She sounds exhausted.

“I know, but I need to talk to you, please. Please just open the door.”

“I’m not going to do that. I can call Raven or Octavia or Wells if you need someone to take you home.”

“I’m not drunk this time.” Clarke says hurriedly. “Or at least, I was drunk earlier, but I’m mostly sober now and I love you.”

Maybe she’s more drunk than she thought because she certainly hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that. She rushes to add on, “I’m sorry I was being a jerk. I was so scared when you said you loved me, but I love you too, Lexa.” She pauses, but no sound comes from the other side of the door. “I miss my friend and I want to cuddle with you on the couch while we watch movies and I want you to take care of me when I’m drunk and cuddle me in bed. I want to wake up with you in the morning and make pancakes. And I want to hook up with you when I’m drunk, and I want to make love to you when I’m sober. Please open the door so we can talk.” 

Tears begin to fall as she waits apprehensively for Lexa to speak, to open the door, to do anything. Nothing is forthcoming so she opens her mouth again to tell Lexa she’ll be waiting here in the morning. 

The lock clicks and the door starts to swing open. Clarke anxiously peers at Lexa’s face, trying to determine how well that went. Her mouth is pulled into a frown and her eyes look suspiciously glossy behind her glasses. She doesn’t move towards Clarke though. She steps away and gestures towards her bedroom without looking at Clarke. 

“You can put yourself to bed. We’ll see how you feel in the morning.”

That’s all she says before retreating to her couch. She doesn’t look Clarke’s way again.

That’s not exactly what she had been hoping for, but it’s enough. Clarke steps quickly into Lexa’s apartment and shuts the door behind her. She makes her way carefully back to Lexa’s room after mumbling a sheepish thank you to Lexa.

She goes through the usual routine and settles into Lexa’s warm, familiar bed. She worries for some time over what she’s going to say in the morning and then an idea strikes and she sets her alarm before drifting into a peaceful sleep.

When Lexa wakes in the morning, Clarke is gone. She sits there on the couch contemplating her stupidity for several minutes before her door opening startles her. Clarke tiptoes in with grocery bags around her wrist and to-go cups in her hands. She freezes sheepishly when she realizes Lexa is awake.

With a nervous smile she approaches cautiously and passes one of the coffees to Lexa. It’s her favorite dark roast from the coffee house down the street, french pressed, and with a splash of cream. Lexa eyes it uncertainly and quirks an eyebrow at Clarke.

She rushes to explain “I thought I could make you breakfast, your favorite breakfast. Because, you know, you made me my favorite breakfast before telling me…” Clarke trails off, realizing she probably made a mistake bringing that morning up.

Lexa just shrugs, takes a sip of coffee, and gestures towards the kitchen. “Go for it.”

Clarke hurries into the kitchen and whips out the ingredients for peanut butter and banana stuffed french toast. She’s only made it once before and that was a bit of a disaster so she’ll need to be on top of her game. On second thought, this was probably a bad idea because she’s a mess in the kitchen.

She contemplates the ingredients in front of her for a long moment before tentatively calling out to Lexa, “Could you maybe help me? I don’t exactly remember how to make this and I don’t want to ruin breakfast completely.” 

She braces herself for Lexa’s anger, but Lexa’s lips actually quirk into a tiny smile as she stands from the couch.

“Thank you,” Clarke says quietly when she moves into the kitchen and begins giving her instructions.

They carefully avoid touching each other and they only speak the bare minimum, but by the time breakfast is finished being made they’ve both got small smiles paying at their lips and Clarke knows everything will be alright.

_ All my friends are wasted _

_ And I hate this club _

_ Man I drink too much _

_ Another Friday night I wasted _

_ My eyes are black and red _

_ I'm crawling back to you babe _


End file.
